


In Plain Sight

by definitelyflowers



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Post Blind Betrayal, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:24:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/definitelyflowers/pseuds/definitelyflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston knows he's been developing feelings for the former Paladin, but they bubble to the surface one weekend during a simple repair job at the old Red Rocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Fallout Big Bang 2016.
> 
> [The Art!](http://grubart.tumblr.com/post/147595556308/i-drew-some-prestondanse-for-the-fallout-bigbang)

Preston guesses perhaps he should have known how capable Danse would be as a leader. The command in his voice reminds every recruit, young farm kids though they may have been, that they are soldiers now. The people of the Commonwealth rely on them, and they have a duty to serve and protect others. He stalks up and down the lines, straightening rifles and adjusting positions, until the fresh-faced young adults of the wasteland stand tall. One near the back, not even ghosting Danse’s chest, straightens upon seeing him. Danse claps her on the shoulder, smiling prouder than ever.

“It’s good to see you back, Janie.”

“It’s good to be back, sir.”

“If you fight super mutants the way you fought Preston’s idea of taco night, we’ll all sleep a little easier.”

The recruits laugh. He has a way with people, and Preston doesn’t mind jokes at his expense. It builds camaraderie, a sense of community the people of the Commonwealth need. He bites back a few words. Danse needs to shine. Nora is a good woman, but her obligations lay elsewhere. Danse, with no home to go back to, has slid into the role of lieutenant general before Preston could think to ask.

He rests his arms on the wooden railing and watches Danse dismiss the recruits to the dining hall. When their eyes meet, he waves. “Do you have a minute, Danse?” Preston knows he does, but the platitude isn’t lost on the former paladin. He nods.

“Affirmative.”

Preston climbs down the ladder of the lookout tower and meets Danse at the bottom. He pulls Danse into a one-armed hug, their chests pressing close together. Danse returns it with a little pat that widens Preston’s grin.

“Should we make sure the perimeter is secure?”

Danse’s eyes flash to the walls, the moat, the turrets, and the guards. There isn’t a chance the perimeter isn’t secure, Nora made sure of that. Still, he nods again. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and waits for Preston to adjust his hat. Preston tries not to fumble under Danse’s focus, but it’s hard. Lately, Danse has been more talkative, and he enjoys discussing future plans and tactics at any moment. Preston finds himself unable to catch any downtime with Danse around, but he won’t complain. He loves having a friend to share his hopes with. Even when the Minute Men were strong, hardly a soul cared about the future. They pretended, and that was the best of them. He shakes his head at the youthful hope he had, stops when he catches Danse watching him.

“Problem?” Danse’s deep voice is louder than the quiet farmland at the edge of the river. It resounds through the fields and sends a current of energy down Preston’s spine. They’re walking closer than he expected, hands occasionally brushing together. The May air warms Preston’s face. He’s sure it’s the air. Danse’s broad chest, clothed in a tight-fitting shirt, cannot be the cause of the sudden heat building up in his cheeks. He catches Danse lifting his arms above his head to stretch, that slow reveal of skin and hair underneath and—

He forces himself to look straight ahead.

“No, there’s no problem. Just thinking about how chaotic things were before you came along.”

They walk along the river’s edge. Preston kicks a few stones out of their path, laughing at the noise they make as they roll into the water with a small _plunk_. Two of the recruits’ children splash in the still brook, and Danse grunts with displeasure. He waves them over, not bothering to squat down and match their heights. The two of them, a girl of about fifteen and a boy barely thirteen, stand at attention by Danse’s legs. They don’t come much higher than his stomach, and Preston has to hide a laugh as he watches them crane their necks up in fear.

“Elle! Ben! What is the meaning of this?”

Elle rolls her shoulders back and salutes. “Lieutenant General Danse! We were patrolling the perimeter when Binky—”

“Don’t call me that!” The boy shoves her. In return, she smacks him on the top of the head. His eyes well with tears, but he dabs them away before any can fall. “Fuck face.”

“What did you call me? Stupid brat!”

Danse grabs her fist before it has the chance to collide against Ben’s face. Preston steps in and scruffs Ben’s shirt, lifting him an inch off the ground. They squabble a bit before relaxing, each releasing tiny, frustrated groans at getting caught fighting.

“Why were you on this side of the town?” Preston asks.

Ben speaks up this time. “My knife fell in, and I was getting it out when Elle came up and pushed me! She’s a bitch!”

“You’re a whiny little pussy!”

“Yeah, at least I don’t got one!”

Preston shakes Ben. “Watch your language, son. There’s nothing negative about womanhood, or would you like our Lieutenant General to send you into the Brotherhood of Steel and have you meet some of the soldiers there? I doubt the women would take to your insults.”

“No, sir,” Ben replies, staring at his shoes.

“And you,” Danse gets Elle’s attention. “Did you push him into the water?”

“It was a joke.”

“Do you see anyone laughing?”

“No.” Her voice is meek as she looks away.

“Then it seems like a poor joke to me. Report to your parents. I’ll let you both off with warnings, but if it happens again, you’ll be doing laps from breakfast to lunch, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” they say in unison.

“Good. Get out of here.”

Once released, Elle and Ben scurry off towards one of the common houses. Preston allows himself a light chuckle. He admires Danse’s way with kids. No one is allowed to join the Minute Men until age sixteen—at Danse’s insistence—but children are more than welcome within Sanctuary’s walls. Preston wouldn’t have it any other way.

He elbows Danse’s side. “Lighten up. They’re just kids.”

“They are kids who need regimented schedule. None of the squires aboard the Prydwen act like this. It puts them at risk.”

Preston stares at the forest across the river, the darkness that could hide anything. He nods. “I suppose you’re right. Are there squires up there?”

“Affirmative. I advised Elder Maxson against it, but he grew up a squire. Not that a scavver in the wasteland is a much better life.”

“It’s a hard world out there.”

“It didn’t used to be.”

Preston places his hand on Danse’s shoulder and squeezes. Though half a foot separates their heights, it’s not awkward looking up into the other man’s eyes. “You’re making it a better place. Everything you do helps, Danse.”

Danse smiles and nods. “Mind if we sit?” He points at a boulder in the middle of the water, with a few smaller ones acting as a natural path.

“Sure.” He follows Danse’s careful footsteps and settles in next to him. Their bodies are close together, the surface of the stone providing little room for two grown men. Preston tries not to appreciate the lye-and-sweat smell of Danse’s skin. There’s something comforting about their friendship, an easiness Preston hasn’t felt in a long time. He sets his rifle on his lap and stares into the water.

“How are you doing?” Preston asks after a few minutes of contemplative silence. Danse jumped into the role of lieutenant general immediately, and though he talks about his time in the Brotherhood often, he never mentions the reasons why he left. Preston knows. He’s one of the few Nora entrusted with the information. Danse knows he knows, but so far, neither has tried to broach the subject.

Danse leans back on the rock, folding his arms under his head. Preston resists the urge to lay beside him. There isn’t enough room for that, he’s sure. He repeats it in his head while Danse thinks.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’m accepting it for what it is. It still doesn’t feel real. I’m not any different than I was. I can’t remember being anything other than what I am. The worst part of it all? I’m happier here than I was in the Brotherhood. For a long time, it was going through the motions. I knew everything to say, but once I met Nora, once I met synths that were better people than some of my fellow soldiers, things started to change.”

“How so?” Preston wants to listen. It’s been a long time since he had someone to share with, someone to help through their problems. It makes him feel useful, needed.

“It’s hard to take a twenty-year-old seriously, sometimes. I remember that age. And you know? He wanted to kill me without an explanation.” Danse rubs his face. “He’s too rash. What we’re doing here, with the Minute Men? It’s what the people of the Commonwealth really need, Garvey.”

Preston laughs. “That means a lot, but we’ve only come this far because of the work you’ve done. You’re a good man. You’re good for these people.” _And for me_ , he wants to add, but holds his tongue. Danse has gone silent, brooding. It’s a common occurrence, Preston notes, and lets Danse work through it. He remembers those long months after Quincy, how hard it was to cope with everything, let alone keep going. If Danse wants to talk, he’s sure Danse knows he’ll be willing to listen. Until then, he’s happy to sit by his friend’s side.

The birds sing in the trees, harmonizing with the water lapping around them. Decaying branches shake with every strong gust of wind. Noises from the settlement—practice rounds being fired, hammering on a new common house, general chatter—disrupt the quiet, but it adds to the sense of solitude. There’s so much around, so much to be doing, but here they are. Not everything has to be a fight for survival.

Danse breathes in, then out. “I’m a synth.” The words are shaky, tentative. He hasn’t said them out loud before, not while Preston was around. His eyes are closed, the sun beating down on his face. There’s a wisp of a smile, and it’s gone like smoke. “I’m a synth,” he repeats, this time tasting the words on his lips, on his tongue.

“It doesn’t change anything, Danse.”

“It exiled me from the Brotherhood.”

“Their loss. You’re no different than any born person, better than most, even.”

There’s a question hanging on the air, trying to worm its way out of Danse’s lungs. On the verge of escape, he pushes it back in and opens his eyes. He sits up, and once again, their bodies are too close.

Preston wants—

He doesn’t know what he wants. All he knows is that his heart flutters with every moment they spend together. It’s an odd sensation, one that twists his stomach, but in a pleasant way that has him craving more.

“I have an idea,” he ventures, because if it wasn’t said now, the courage would disappear from him. “The old gas station down the road from here, it’s been sitting unattended for a few years. Do you think Nora might like it? Sanctuary’s growing a bit crowded, and we both know she needs a little privacy, a place to relax.”

“What are you suggesting, Garvey?” Although Danse’s voice is flat, Preston sees the curiosity in his eyes.

“I think it would be a decent place for our general until we take the Castle back.”

Danse rolls his eyes. “If you keep insisting we go squash mirelurks right next to Elder Maxson’s front door, I think I may become a hermit.” He chuckles. “It would be nice to give the recruits a break, however. They lack the endurance for rigorous training. Perhaps a short leave will do them good.”

“And you, lieutenant general?”

“I could use a break as well. Since Nora refused to execute her orders, I’ve been—”

“Overdoing it? Throwing yourself into your work?”

“You’ve noticed?”

“Of course I have.” Preston claps him on the shoulder, a tired smile on his face. “I stand watch every day on the platform. It’s getting hard _not_ to notice you barking more orders and doling out stiffer punishments.”

“The people need to learn to be soldiers.”

“They made it through a life in the wasteland without dying or becoming raiders. Not everything has to be forged from steel. It’s about community, and service to your fellows, and being decent in the remnants of the world. Scraping by isn’t how life should be. These people deserve more.”

Danse nods, defeated. “The Brotherhood polices the Institute. And I’m not a part of it anymore.” He runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes water slightly, and Preston fears he may have said too much, but Danse nods again, firmer this time. “They’re doing fine without me. I’m a blight, a thing that shouldn’t exist. If Elder Maxson allowed me to remain, there would have been dissent. He did the right thing, sending Nora to correct the mistakes of science.”

“I’m glad she didn’t,” Preston interjects. He has to. “You’re not a mistake.”

“I hope one day I’ll believe you. It doesn’t change that I’ll support the Brotherhood, no matter what. But, you’re right, Garvey. Not everything has to be steel. Elle’s barely a teenager, and she stood toe-to-toe with me to defend herself. She may never be a soldier like I was, but if the Commonwealth keeps raising them like that, it’ll be a better world before we’re tucked into our graves.”

Preston hugs Danse from the side, giving him a small squeeze before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and using Danse as a balance so he can stand easier. When he’s solid on his feet, he helps Danse up. A gap of a few inches stands between them, and Danse’s breath ghosts over Preston’s skin. He swallows, wants to lean in and erase the distance, but Danse begins to walk to the shore, and the moment is gone. Preston curses silently. He keeps acting like a love-struck child, and it’s clear Danse is less perceptive than a tato covered in Brahmin dung, that he can’t pick up on a single hint no matter how many Preston feels he’s leaving around.

He pulls his hat down over his eyes and follows Danse’s lead over the rocks. One shifts underneath him, and it’s enough of a shock to throw Preston off balance. He flings his arms out in front of his body, catching Danse’s back before he plants into the cold, stony creek. Danse turns, eyes wide as Preston stares up at him.

Then he starts laughing. Preston buries his face in Danse’s chest—and Atom-be-praised, it’s a good place to be—to hide his flushed cheeks. Danse’s hand runs up and down his back, and Preston curses the duster separating their skin from touching.

“Watch out, Garvey. The water’s wet around these parts, didn’t you know?”

“Is that your idea of a joke?”

“Might be,” Danse smiles. “You okay?”

Preston steadies himself before passing Danse, jumping the last foot to the shore. His boots squelch in the mud, but he places his hands on his hips in triumph. “Do that without power armor, Danse.”

Danse takes a step back. He eyes his feet, then the spot beside Preston, and jumps. He lands a little further up, in the drier part of the bank.

Preston could knock his head off his shoulders when he sticks his tongue out. “Now whose acting like a kid?” He asks instead.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he says. His cheeks are on fire. He pulls free of the mud and stands beside Danse, craning his neck so he can meet the taller man’s gaze. “Walk me home?”

“You need an escort?” There’s a glimmer of something in Danse’s eyes, but Preston fears thinking too deeply on it.

“If the lieutenant general would be so kind.”

Danse loops their elbows together. They walk at a steady pace, behind the houses. Preston has his own bedroom in the house at the front of the neighborhood that serves as Nora’s current base for Minute Men business. Danse occupies the third bedroom until a proper home can be built for him. Preston doesn’t mind the setup, but it’s getting too cramped for his tastes. Seeing Danse all the time unhinges him. Being with one another every day keeps him comfortable, and he fears he might be lowering his guard. It’s all too easy to let Danse in, to flirt. Preston wonders when Danse will realize, wonders if he’ll return the sentiment or recoil.

Nothing is certain, and it scares him. He works to push it down, but walking arm-in-arm down the streets of Sanctuary feels _right_ , like this is part of what has always been missing.

The last bell for dinner rings throughout the settlement. Danse pulls them toward it. “Never begin a campaign on an empty stomach,” he says. Preston is glad to eat with him. They sit with a large group of people, and when they finish the lukewarm molerat stew Codsworth prepared, Preston mills around the room, checking in on everyone.

Danse does the same, informing a few squad leaders of their departure. The people take it in stride, and Preston senses the relief in their bodies at the news. Danse is good for the people, but he’s hard.

When Marcy Long enters, Preston grabs her into a hug, careful of her protruding belly. She’s one of four survivors of Quincy, one of the few remaining witnesses to horrors that still haunt his dreams. “I’m so happy for you both,” he whispers, and she smiles, resting a hand on her stomach. Curie predicted a June baby, and Preston will be happy to see the newborn when it arrives.

“It was hard, for a long time, losing him. But things are better now. Jun and I are happy. It won’t be okay, but we can move forward. Thank you, Preston. For everything.”

She smiles. Preston lets her start her meal and meets Danse at the doors. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Danse shrugs, and they continue onto their shared home in soft silence. He opens the door for them. The main room contains three desks, ashtrays, and a couple couches. Preston makes a note in his head to build a similar setup as they get Red Rocket fixed. Danse has already disappeared into his room, and with a sigh, Preston walks down the hall and collapses onto his bed. He doesn’t know what to do, but a week off with Danse isn’t a bad prospect.

Not a bad prospect at all.


	2. Chapter 2

They set out as the sun rises, chewing through thick pieces of yao guai jerky while they walk. It’s over-salted for Preston’s taste, but a meal’s a meal, and he won’t begrudge the energy it gives him. Nora stocked the Red Rocket with old canned food, but nothing beats something fresh from the earth. Anything that survived the centuries between manufacture and the present day is sure to be packed full of radiation. He won’t risk poisoning himself when the option to avoid it is readily available.

Danse swallows his portion in seconds. He holds his rifle down but ready. The thirty minutes from Sanctuary to the decrepit fuel station is usually peaceful, but Preston understands the years of military training make Danse unable to let his guard down for more than a few seconds at a time.

Traveling with him is a relief, a weight off Preston’s shoulders. The exhaustion of being constantly alert drains every part of him, and he welcomes the slack Danse picks up. For years, and especially after Quincy, everyone relied on him for protection. He likes this new situation. It keeps him sane.

He finishes the last bite of his breakfast and cranks his rifle. Danse glances over at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “Don’t think I can handle whatever the wasteland throws at us?”

“You can. It doesn’t mean you should.”

 _Let me keep you safe_ , he wants to say, but Danse doesn’t need his protection, not like everyone else. Preston sighs, his heart deflating in his chest. The place where it hammers against his ribs is bruised from the pressure and the constant flood of emotions Danse elicits in him. He curses the way Danse makes him giddy, makes his pace a little bit faster. The pain overwhelms him sometimes, but being friends is enough.

Convincing himself is the hard part.

Five minutes outside of Sanctuary, and the landscape changes. The blossoming grass replaces the smell of cooking pots and gunpowder. Preston sneezes once or twice, wiping at his nose while Danse chuckles. They bump arms, and maybe this is a new side of Danse. He acts somber during the circuits they make around the settlement, always on the lookout for danger. There are children to protect, let alone the men and women who need shelter and can barely wield a rifle. Preston can’t place his finger on the difference. Their previous travels with Nora remained serious because they were on a mission to protect someone or find something. This is different, and Preston likes it.

“I miss being a knight,” Danse begins. Preston turns his head, nodding for him to continue. “When I first joined the Brotherhood, we’d go on long patrols. Days camping and marching and joking—that’s the first thing I fell in love with. Recovering technology, stopping evil like the Enclave and the Institute, that’s noble. I worked so hard to learn everything I could, read the Codex every night. The promotion to paladin was everything I ever dreamed of, but respect replaced friendship. There were so few people of my rank in the Capital Wasteland, none here. You can’t maintain friendships with subordinates. The power you have over them is a line that can’t be crossed, whether or not you mean it.”

Preston doesn’t mention how Nora now has his old rank. He remembers how she screamed about it, threatened to kill Maxson and everyone aboard the Prydwen. Only Preston’s reminder that the innocent would go down with the guilty stopped her. Instead, he ventures, “You mean to say you didn’t have any friends over there?”

“I would count Haylen, knowing what I know, but fraternization is a constant fear. I wouldn’t want to ruin someone’s career because a jealous party thought I was favoring one person over another. Elder Lyons was laxer, but that was many years ago.”

“I guess I never realized how seriously you took it all.”

“Not everyone becomes a paladin.”

“I’m sorry.” If Preston were honest, he wouldn’t let the apology slip out. He doesn’t know what the words are supposed to mean, what they apply to, but he knows he isn’t sorry. Having Danse beside him is worth every ounce of struggle up to this point.

“For what?”

“For what you lost. When the other Minute Men turned their backs on us at Quincy, I was sure we were dead. I get it’s not the same thing, but for what it’s worth, I think they made the wrong decision.”

“And you think you’re making the right one?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The rest of the trip is done in silence. The words Preston wants to say evaporate on his tongue, leaving him listless and confused.

They arrive at the Red Rocket without incident. Molerat bones are scattered across the concrete near the garage, and a fine layer of dust covers every surface inside.

Preston sets his rifle down by the door. He crosses his arms over his chest, bites his lip, and hums. The place is a mess. Scavengers left the workstations intact, but not much else. The outline of Nora’s boots can be traced from one end to the other, followed by a set of paws. The store of food rests inside the small office, and a terminal flickers to life when Danse presses the on button.

“Has Nora informed you of the contents?”

“No. She’s not into tech.”

“It doesn’t take a scribe to guess a password on one of these old machines.” He taps away at the keyboard before the screen lights up black and green. Text zooms across, and Preston has to step in close to read over Danse’s shoulder. “The original files are still here. Looks like someone was running a chem operation at some point. Wonder what drove them off.”

“Not much business around these parts.”

“A cave out back. If we clear it out, it might be good storage.”

“No, look. They hauled the used canisters of nuclear waste over there. I don’t have a Geiger counter, and I’m not letting either of us get sick for closet space.”

Danse chuckles. “If we used power armor, it would be a quick job.”

“Maybe another time.” Preston rests his chin on top of Danse’s soft hair, his hands sliding until his arms loop around Danse’s neck as they read. It’s only when Danse’s fingers brush against the back of his palm that he pulls back, flushing a dark red. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind it. Between the two of us, there’s not much decorum to uphold. Lighten up, Garvey.”

“Lighten up? Really? You’re telling _me_ that?”

“I am. You’ve been getting so tense, lately. What’s wrong?”

Danse turns around in the chair, his large brown eyes looking up at Preston. They’re so beautiful, and his lips—his utterly kissable lips—pout, and the concern is palpable. Preston swallows the lump in his throat and represses a cough. “There’s nothing wrong. I’m thinking about the possibilities of bringing this place into working order. This weekend, we should focus on cleaning up the dust and scrapping the junk.”

“Our rations won’t be enough for that. Heavy lifting requires extra food. I believe a good designation of our time would be to hunt. The forests around this area have plenty of radstag. Proctor Teagan sent out a team every month to hunt them. We can work until afternoon, then proceed to hunt in the evenings when they are most active. Or, if you prefer, we can wait until morning.”

“A good night’s rest never hurt anybody.”

He backs away when Danse stands. His stomach flips with the closeness between Danse’s bulky frame and his own body. Danse slings his arm around Preston’s shoulders, turning them towards the door and walking them out of the cramped room. Preston doesn’t _want_ to lean into him, to curl into the contact, but he finds himself unable to resist. He prays Danse doesn’t notice.

If he does, he stays silent. They part, Danse grabbing a broom and placing it into Preston’s hands. He looks the stack of boxes up and down, hands on his hips, and sighs. “Think there’s a crowbar in the garage?”

“Probably. Do you need help?”

“Unlikely.” Danse shakes his head. “I’ve spent years hauling pieces of power armor from ground to vertibird and then vertibird to the mechanical bay of the Prydwen. I can handle a few crates. Besides, the labor is best split between two parties. Two jobs will be completed at the same time. If we work together, we’ll be distracted.”

“By what?”

Danse winks.

“Each other.”

Preston’s face heats up. His eyes dart to the floor, his hands gripping the handle of the broom until his knuckles turn pale. He can _feel_ Danse’s smile and wants to smack it off his face, but his whole body is rigid, refusing to move even an inch. After a long moment, he glances up.

“I guess we should get to work then.”

“Affirmative. Until lunch?”

“Yeah, until lunch.”

Danse grabs the closest crate and hauls it to the garage.


	3. Chapter 3

Danse repairs an old pipe rifle while Preston heats an ancient can of soup over the open fire. He rips a piece of duct tape off with his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tensing, and it takes all of Preston’s self-control not to gawk at how strong Danse is.

The situation is peaceful in its regularity. Another day in the Commonwealth, the two of them enjoying silent company, doing what needs to be done. He hums to himself, an old tune he heard on the radio or in the Third Rail, he can’t remember. Danse smiles at him, eyes full of happiness. Preston wonders what changed. Before, Danse would grow uncomfortable without a chain of command above and below him, without a task to be completed or an objective fulfilled. To watch him sit and work on a silly old gun amazes Preston.

It fills him with joy to think that he helped make this situation a reality, that he helped to lead Danse in some way from the dark places of his exile and into the light of normalcy.

He takes the pot off the flame when it begins to bubble.

“Smells good,” Danse says. He doesn’t look up from his gun, turning it in his hands with an inspecting gaze. His brow furrows as he shakes it. A lose piece rattles, but he shrugs and sets it down, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “What did you make?”

“Something better than taco night.” Preston shoots him a mock glare. Danse places a hand over his heart, pretending to be taken aback.

“Using my own words against me. Garvey, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were _proud_ of putting my recruits in the medical bay for a fortnight.”

“And you’re saying Codsworth cooks better?”

“I said no such thing. What is it?”

Preston shrugs.

“An old can of tomato soup. Nora told me that the modern tato comes from them so I added a few of those and the rest of the yao guai.” He prods the corn still in the husk, the green outside charred. “Plates and bowls?”

“Sure thing.” Danse hands him the plates first, and Preston uses his tongs to set two cobs on each. He balances the bowls on them and spoons out the soup next, the steam curling into the late afternoon sky. Behind them, the sun sets. A few insects hum, but the mutated ones are nowhere to be found, and they rest easy while they eat. Danse takes his plate with a grateful nod, the pipe rifle on his lap and the duct tape by his side. His eyes shut with the first hot bite. “Damn, this is way better than taco night.”

Preston nudges him with a foot, chuckling. He twists open the bottle of whiskey they found while cleaning and takes a swig, passing it to Danse when he holds out his hand. Though it’s warm and bitter on their tongues, they take turns until half of it is drained. The food goes more slowly, but it goes. Preston is impressed with himself. He knows he isn’t the best cook in the world, but like everything, he makes due with what he’s given. Today it worked in his favor.

Danse scoots close to him and takes another sip of whiskey. “Why don’t I ever see you with anyone? There are plenty of single women who flirt with you.”

It might be how close Danse is. It might be the whiskey. It might be the gentle breeze breaking the suffocating heat of early summer. Whatever it is, Preston curses his loose lips even as the response slips out.

“I’ve never liked women a whole lot.”

“I see men, too. You’re a handsome guy, Garvey. No one grabs your attention?”

“I wouldn’t say that. There’s someone, but I don’t know how he feels.”

“Who is it? You can tell a fellow soldier. We’re pals.”

Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “And your excuse?”

“No one wants a synth.” Danse frowns and gives Preston the whiskey.

“That’s not true.” He takes a large gulp. “There’s no difference between you and anyone else. I think people would swoon if you even looked their way. Those big, brown eyes could make the coldest heart burn.”

“You’ve got some nice eyes yourself, the kind the pre-war books say a man could lose himself in.”

Preston blames the whiskey when he leans in a little closer. His heart beats faster than a raider high on psycho, his tongue darting out to lick at his chapped lips. Some people describe lust as smoldering, but there is a passion in the look Danse gives him, a flame ready to set everything alight.

They inch closer to one another, the small gap shrinking, and Preston thinks, _this is it_.

But a rattling in the bush beside them breaks Danse away.

Preston jumps up, ready to tear apart whatever interrupted them. Danse, calmer, picks up the pipe rifle and aims it towards the bushes. Two molerats pop out, growling and charging towards them. Danse levels the rifle at the closet one, fires, and hits it in the side. The bullet isn’t enough to incapacitate it, but it hisses and scrambles back in pain. The second one, fueled by the smell of blood in the air, swipes at Danse’s shins. The thick denim of his jeans takes the blow, and he uses the short range to fire into the rigid bones of its spine.

It drops dead at his feet.

The wounded one growls and half-limps, half-runs towards him. He shoots it once, twice, and a third time before it finally collapses in a heap. Blood splatters across the pavement and one of the crates they hadn’t scrapped for excess wood. Preston walks to it and kicks it with his boot. The bones crack on impact and it rolls onto its side from the force. He flashes a grin to Danse, who smiles back.

“I suppose our hunting for tomorrow morning is completed. We should not have imbibed quite so much whiskey. Waste of munitions.”

“You’re so fucking serious,” Preston says as he picks up the carcass. “Anyway, molerat is better. More fatty.”

Danse sets down the rifle and lifts the other molerat. “I disagree with you, there. Radstag makes for better stew.”

“But shitty steaks. That tarp still laid out?”

“Naturally. Are you suggesting we butcher this into steaks?”

“Jerky would be better, easier to store.”

He grimaces. “Molerat jerky is disgusting.”

“It tastes better than starving.”

They deposit the molerats onto the tarp in the garage, letting them fall to the earth with a shallow thud. With the adrenaline rushing out of him as quickly as it rushed in, Preston wobbles on his feet. Danse steps up behind him, wrapping his strong arms around Preston’s torso. “You okay?” He whispers at his ear. The heat on the back of Preston’s neck makes the small hairs stand on edge.

He laughs. “I’m better than okay with you holding me.”

“Let’s get you to bed. I’ll take care of this mess, okay? Come on.” Danse takes hold of Preston’s hand and starts walking to the entrance of the Red Rocket, but he pulls away.

“Whiskey first.”

“You haven’t had enough?”

“No. Maybe it’ll make me brave. I have a secret.” Danse allows Preston to drink another large swallow of the whiskey before snatching it out of his hand. He whines a little, but the quick press of lips to his cheek distracts him. “How come you—”

“We’ll talk about it when you’re sober.”

“How come you’re not as drunk?”

Danse shrugs. “I’m not a human.”

“So? Drink more!”

“You’re a bad influence, Garvey. You need to sleep.” This time, Danse is more insistent in pulling Preston along behind him. Preston shuffles forward. They reach the office with their bedrolls laid out, and Preston stares down at the yellow fabric.

“I don’t want to sleep alone.”

Danse starts unbuttoning Preston’s shirt, nodding. “You won’t. I’ll butcher the meat and come right to bed.” Preston laughs when Danse’s fingers skim along his sides, resting on his hips.

“You’re the bad influence, Danse.”

“Lay down.”

Preston obeys without question, a large smile on his lips. Danse unlaces Preston’s boots and tugs them off, setting them by the door. He wipes his hands on his jeans before draping the woolen blanket over Preston. With a soft laugh, he takes Preston’s hat off and sets it on the dresser. When he stands, Preston can’t withhold his whimper.

“You’re my friend. I’m happy you’re with us now. You make me very, _very_ happy.”

“You make me happy as well. Get some rest. I’ll be back soon. Will you be okay without me?”

Preston yanks the blanket up to his chin and yawns. “I’ll be fine. Go do what you have to do, lieutenant general. And maybe hold me when you come back?”

“You can count on it, Preston.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s warm in the room, and there’s a heavy weight on Preston’s chest when he stirs back into consciousness. He shifts on the bedroll, turning into Danse’s sleeping body. His muscular arms clutch Preston tight, and their faces are mere centimeters from touching. Preston can barely remember the night before, but he guesses the whiskey took over from the vague thoughts that swirl in his mind.

“Danse?” He whispers, scared to wake the other man but needing to end their cuddling. Danse grunts and rests his forehead against Preston’s scalp. “Danse, hey.”

Brown eyes slide open and focus on him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

“What you asked.”

“And what did I ask?”

“For me to hold you. We may be of the same rank, but I follow orders when given.”

Preston sighs. “Can you stop?”

“Negative.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Danse pauses, smiling. His cheeks turn red. “Because I would like to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Preston is lost for words. The whole universe drifts away as he works to comprehend Danse’s statement. He wants it to be true, but he can’t believe it. Won’t believe it. Nothing this good has ever happened to him.

“Have I been misinterpreting you? I’m sorry.” He starts to scoot back.

“No. You haven’t.” Preston blushes. “I’ve been waiting to hear that for months now.”

Danse closes the distance between them with a duck of his head. Their lips press together, gentle and unsure. Preston’s eyes flutter closed. He melts against Danse, moving his mouth against the other’s. The butterflies in his stomach drop like stones. He wants this. He needs this.

He wraps his arms around Danse’s shoulders, and oh, it’s amazing. As their tongues slip past each other, Danse’s hand slides down his body to his lower back, pushing his hips closer.

Every other kiss pales in comparison to this one. There’s so much warmth spilling from his heart he can barely stand it. Rough fingers trail up his sides, and he laughs into Danse’s mouth. Neither pull away from the contact. It’s been a long, long time since Preston had someone explore his body, dipping under his shirt and running up his skin. When Danse pinches a nipple, he moans. He can’t help it.

Danse lays on his back. Preston moves to straddle his legs and looks down at him, at the smiling face of his friend. His best friend. The idea hits him with sudden force, knocking the air from his lungs. He tries to say it as Danse unbuckles his belt. Danse pauses when he opens his mouth to speak, interrupting the thought before he can voice it.

“Do you not want this? I can stop.” And he does. He puts his hands on either side, leaving Preston with an unnatural coldness that he immediately despises.

“No, that’s not it. Really,” he adds when Danse raises his thick brows. “You’re just—just so special to me. I think I love you.”

“I think I love you, too,” Danse replies. The words come so easily to him. Preston is jealous, but for the first time in years, he cares if he dies. The world has opened up before him. Possibility builds in his mind, all the things they could do, all the lives they could change. He leans down and kisses Danse again, trying to fit all that hope into it.

He doesn’t know how long they lay there, kissing. Times stops holding importance in Danse’s arms. Preston tastes the words again, feeling them as they slip out. “I love you, Danse.”

“Why?”

“Expected you to say that.”

“It’s a good question.”

“I love you because you’re a good man. You’re genuine, and kind, and goddamn handsome.” He tugs Danse’s shirt up slightly. The fabric gives way, revealing defined abs covered in a thick layer of dark hair. Preston’s hand roams up Danse’s torso and rests on his chest. “Why do you think you love me?”

Danse kisses him before answering, dragging him down. They roll onto their sides again as their kiss deepens, tongues moving in sync, hips bucking together.

Preston can’t keep his eyes open. There’s a muted pleasure to the moment. It washes over him in small waves, enjoyable in its calmness. He runs his fingers through Danse’s hair, brushing out tangles. Danse moans at the sensation and tries to bring them closer to one another.

They shift again, and Danse rocks between his thighs, taking control of the rhythm. He breaks away, smiling as he sits back on his heels. “I think I love you because you showed me kindness when no one else would. Nora accepted me, but she would have seen my face changed and my memories wiped. That’s no life. You embraced who I am and gave me a new purpose, but allowed me to find it myself. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” Preston turns away, trying to hide the coy grin spreading across his face. Danse touches his jaw, wordlessly asking him to meet gazes. “More than that, you’ve given me hope. I used to think that there was only one way to secure peace for the world, to prevent humanity from killing itself once more. What you’ve done, what you’ve kept going despite all odds, that’s amazing. You’re amazing. There’s not a person on this earth more deserving of love and respect than you, and frankly, I’m not worthy of being the man you want. You deserve more than me.”

“Danse, I—” The words fade from his mind as he attempts to respond. Preston sits up on his elbows so that their faces are inches apart. He breathes in, then out. “I don’t know what to say. You deserve everything. Nothing that I’ve done could have been accomplished without your leadership and guidance. I would have given up without you, even before your exile. Seeing the dedication you had to the Brotherhood convinced me to stick with it, to pour my heart and soul into the Minute Men. And your dedication now, your utter perseverance through it all, is astounding. I want to keep working because every day I see you, I see how happy you’ve become. And I know it’ll sound stupid, but Danse, as much as I want to be committed to the cause wholly, I can’t. You’ve gone and stolen my heart.”

“What old book did you read that one in?”

“A lot of them. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I know.” Danse kisses him again. Preston stops moving, stops thinking. This is how it should be. Happiness settles over him. The caress of Danse’s lips on his, the roll of their tongues sweeping against one another, the soft noises Danse makes as they share the moment—it devours him.

They part, and pant, and resume. Over and over, and Preston could disappear into the crashing oceans within him. He lays on his back, arms slung around Danse’s shoulders, gasps when Danse nips at his neck and cranes to the side. This isn’t his first time, but he feels like a boy again with the way his heart jolts at every little thing. His hands shake no matter how encouraging Danse is.

And though he knows it isn’t Danse’s first either, they’ve shared plenty of stories during the long nights spent on watch, he’s convinced Danse is just as nervous, just as worried. There’s not a thing he could do wrong, but he’s so afraid and so excited and everything is untarnished and new.

It’s like no time has passed. He’s a young man again, hope in his heart and rifle in his hands. He’s daring to fight against evil, and he’s winning, and his heroes are still alive and proud of his work. And nothing has hurt him, not that first heartbreak of a fellow volunteer or the slaughter at Quincy. Nothing is bad because Danse keeps kissing him, keeps smiling against his mouth, keeps existing in the same moment with him.

Preston wants _it_ , to be with Danse not only now, but forever. The lifetime they could spend together flashes underneath his eyelids, and God, if he isn’t _happy_.

They stop one last time, and Danse says it first.

“I would like to make this more intimate.”

He giggles. “That’s the worst way to put it.”

“Well, what way do you want me to put it?”

“Pervert.” Preston smacks Danse’s arm and laughs with him. “Will you take off your clothes for me?”

“I know what stripping is. You can be blunt.”

“Then give me a show, lieutenant general. There’s no superior officer here to catch you.”

Danse gives him a quick peck on the mouth before standing. He lifts his arms over his head in a large stretch and slowly, tantalizingly, runs his palms down his chest, his stomach, and finally his fingers hook into the hem. Preston licks his lips at the trail of hair running from the top of Danse’s jeans to his muscular pecs as he peels the shirt from his skin. There’s not one part of Danse he doesn’t admire, not one part he wouldn’t discover with his tongue and lips and hands.

The shirt tossed to the side, Danse unbuttons his jeans and slides the zipper down. It clicks in the silence. Preston releases a strained hiss as Danse _wiggles_ out of his pants. He clutches the bedroll, digs his nails in, and watches with rapt attention. Danse makes such a pretty picture, looking down under his eyelashes, smirking at the way Preston opens and closes his mouth. His confidence seeps from his pores. “You like it?”

Well, fuck, _of course_ he likes it. He loves it, wants to shove his face in that crease between Danse’s two pectoral muscles and die there, happy and content.

Danse lifts an eyebrow, chuckling. “Oh, these?” He tenses, and they bounce with effort.

Preston would kill him if he weren’t so beautiful.

The only thing separating Preston from seeing Danse in all his glory—and it _is_ glorious—is his thin excuse for boxers. They leave little to the imagination, and Preston can’t keep his eyes off of what’s held in underneath. Danse’s arousal isn’t the biggest he’s had the pleasure of viewing, but it certainly is a sight to behold. Its thick, uncut length rests against his thigh, half-hard. Danse runs his fingers from the base to the tip, moaning softly at the contact.

He bites the inside of his lip and drops to his knees. “Let me undress you.” They kiss once more—Preston doesn’t think kissing will ever get old—and allows Danse to pull at his shirt. He lifts his arms so that it slips off easily, and Danse’s mouth falls to his neck. Soft nibbles coat his skin as Danse works his way down, sucking on the end of his collarbone before taking a dark nipple between his teeth. Preston gasps, hands shooting to Danse’s hair, as the other man laps at one and pinches the other. He spends his time on them, switching back and forth before dragging his tongue down to Preston’s flat stomach. He’s not as built as Danse, but there’s not much fat on him, either. The lines of his abdomen stand out nicely, he thinks, and the way Danse pulls back to admire him has Preston trying to cover himself.

“Don’t do that,” Danse says. He grabs Preston’s wrists and pins them down. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Preston doesn’t fight Danse’s grip, too pleased by the compliments and the constant pressure of being held down. “No.”

Danse chuckles and picks up where he left off. He winds his fingers through Preston’s belt loops and tugs as Preston lifts his hips from the ground. He bursts into laughter when he notices the skulls on Preston’s boxers.

“I didn’t take you for that kind of man, Preston.”

“Not everyone can pack himself into those tight little briefs, Danse.”

“Is that a challenge? What’s underneath here?” He palms Preston’s arousal. Preston bites back a moan, just barely, but Danse lets out a low grunt of approval. “I think I might like what you’re packing.”

Preston rolls his eyes before gasping as Danse works him out of the slit of his underwear. Danse has him on length, but Preston wins in girth.

The thought makes him grin.

“What?” Danse asks. His voice is tinged with a little worry.

“My old pal Ronnie used to argue with just about everyone, called it a dick measuring contest.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Danse has own underwear pushed around his thighs before Preston can think of a response. He presses them together, stroking and smearing their precum down their lengths. “Oh, fuck, Danse.” Preston bucks into the contact, his eyelids squeezed shut. “Oh, that’s good. That’s _so_ good.” He pulls Danse into a sloppy kiss while their lower bodies grind together. It’s been a year, maybe two, since someone else’s hands were on him in an attempt to elicit this kind of response. And Danse’s hands are perfect, calloused and rough but knowledgeable and gentle and he _needs_ it, needs it so bad he could cry when Danse stops kissing his lips.

“Let me suck you,” Danse says. It isn’t a question that needs a response. He scoots down and takes Preston’s underwear all the way off, dropping them somewhere out of sight. Delicately, reverently, he starts kissing and sucking at Preston’s thighs, draping Preston’s legs over his shoulders for better access. Danse takes the tip into his mouth. It’s too sudden for Preston, and he thrusts haphazardly into the contact. Danse releases with a noise that virginal ears would call a pop, but they both grin like idiots at each other.

“Making my dick sound like farts, thanks Danse.”

“You’re less mature than Elle and Ben the other day. Farting?”

“That’s what it sounded like.”

“No, this is what a fart sounds like.” Danse places his open mouth on Preston’s thigh and blows. Preston laughs and jerks away when Danse tries to do it again. “I know a number of techniques.”

“They teach you to flirt like that in the Capital Wasteland?”

“Yes sir,” Danse winks before running his tongue along the underside of Preston’s cock. Preston’s gasps, his head bumping against the floor at the shock of the motion. “Whatever orders you give me, I’ll follow.”

“Technically,” he has to breathe through his nose to keep calm as Danse continues to lick and nuzzle him, “aren’t you the superior officer?”

“Mm.” Danse starts sucking again, one hand holding Preston’s hips down so he can’t move. He takes him halfway before he starts bobbing his head up and down. Preston lays back and smiles, can’t help but smile at how good it all feels. Danse’s moans send little shivers through his spine. His heels dig into Danse’s back and his fingers grab for Danse’s hair to force him a little deeper.

Danse swallows around him and pulls up, wiping some of the spittle from his chin.

“I didn’t say stop.”

“I know.” His voice is husky from the scratch of skin down his throat. Preston’s cock jumps at how masculine it sounds, how full of lust. Then Danse is crawling on his hands and knees to where their packs lay. He shuffles through them for a moment before pulling out a small jar of clear gel.

“What’s that?” Preston lifts himself onto his elbows and follows Danse with his eyes as the other man unscrews the lid.

“It’s homemade. As an initiate, every person is taught how to fight. This helps lessen the impact and cause the attacker’s fist or gun to slide off.” His face turns a bright red. “It’s slippery.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So which one of us—”

“I would like to have you inside of me.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Preston blinks. His lungs work double time to keep up with his heavy breathing. “Are you sure that’s not moving too fast?”

“We’re both soldiers. You know death can come at any point. I love you. You love me. We’ve been spending every day together for months. I believe this part is long overdue.”

Preston agrees with a tiny nod. “Yeah, you’re right,” he squeaks. “I’d, um, like to be inside of you. Do you need any help? With, uh—”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, Garvey.” Danse lays beside him and sets the jar to the side, curling against Preston’s body. Preston shifts so that their chests touch and their erections grind together, and he forgets the worry in the pit of his stomach. Nothing is certain, but he knows he wants Danse, and that’s enough encouragement to go through with it.

He reaches for the jar and sticks two fingers in, coating them in the substance.

“What’s it made of?”

“Vegetable starch and water,” Danse replies, laying his leg over Preston’s hip.

“That’s neat.” Preston places his fingers at Danse’s entrance and waits for Danse to nod. He pushes his pointer finger between the tight ring of muscle. Danse’s breathing grows sporadic as Preston guides himself further inside, curling slightly when the second knuckle moves in. “Feel good?”

Danse bites his lower lip and nods. Preston places a small kiss to his forehead and starts working his middle finger in. He scissors Danse open, careful not to cause any distress, but Danse pants into the crook of Preston’s neck. Under his soft gasps for air, he can hear Danse whispering for _more_ and _deeper_. Preston does, pushing until his fingers are fully sheathed. Danse whimpers and opens his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Preston says, and he means it, especially with the way Danse keeps spreading his legs and the way his cheeks are hot from the contact. He slides his fingers out, wiping them off on the bedroll before grabbing another glob of the lube onto his hand and stroking himself. The lukewarm gel makes him shudder, but the low groan Danse makes as he watches Preston jack himself off is worth the slight discomfort. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please.”

Preston crawls on top of Danse and positions himself at the other man’s entrance, swallowing as he presses his tip inside. The slick heat draws him inside, and he feels Danse sucking him in inch by inch until his hips are flat against Danse’s ass. He doesn’t try for anything special, not now. Resting on his forearms, Preston enjoys the closeness of their bodies and Danse’s strong legs wound around his waist. They smile at each other, and although Preston wants to slide out and slam back in, he waits as patiently as he can for Danse to ask him.

Danse leans up and kisses him. “Fuck me.”

“Okay.” He guides himself out, resisting every urge to quicken the pace, and slowly works himself back in. “Is this okay?”

“I’m a grown man, Preston. Fuck me like it.” Danse smiles, but the undercurrent of frustration is clearly audible. Preston laughs and rests his forehead on Danse’s.

“If that’s what you want.”

“I wouldn’t be on my back if I didn’t want it.”

“Fair enough, lieutenant general,” Preston says before letting his body take control. The physical urges he’s suppressed for years come surging back all at once, and he sets an unyielding pace. He lifts himself on his knees, taking Danse with him, and thrusts rapidly.

Danse’s hands grab at everything. Preston’s shoulders, the bedroll underneath them, his own chest—whatever he can as Preston rocks their lower bodies together. He curses as Preston moves, biting out words Preston thought him incapable of. Even the raunchiest tales don’t compare to some of the filth Danse says as Preston thrusts into him.

It’s better than kissing, being balls-deep inside the former paladin and listening to him start to grow louder. Preston grabs Danse’s arousal and strokes it in time with his movements, savoring the muffled screams as Danse bites into the flesh of his wrist. He watches Danse tense, _feels_ him tense, and Preston can put two-and-two together. They’re close, so close, because it’s been so long and it’s so good and everything has been leading to this moment.

Danse comes first, shooting onto his stomach. The spasm of his inner muscles pushes Preston right over the edge, and he spills his load inside, unable to do anything but gasp silently as orgasm overtakes him.

He opens his eyes even as he’s collapsing onto Danse’s chest, glad to see a lazy grin on his face. Preston kisses the scuff on Danse’s chin and relaxes. “That was fast,” he says. Danse nods.

“I assume it’s been a while for both of us.”

“Yeah. Worth it.”

“Don’t get tired on me now, Garvey. Hardly a training exercise if it’s finished within the hour.”

“Atom’s Holy Light, Danse, will you drop the military jokes?”

“Never.”

“Fine.” Preston laughs into the kiss Danse plants on his mouth. “Guess you’ve earned them, babe.”

“Babe?”

“You mind?”

“No.” His fingers run along Preston’s bare, sweaty back. “I like being called babe.”

“Hot ass?”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Alright. Babe it is.” Preston can’t stop smiling, can’t stop the happiness that floods from every corner of his being. His ears ring, his vision blurs, but he’ll be damned if this isn’t what life should be like. He slips out of Danse and lays next to him, swiping a few soaked hairs off Danse’s face.

“When we return to Sanctuary, we should make this official.”

“What do you mean?”

“Inform Nora and the recruits of our relationship. It is the right thing to do. It would make me happy for everyone to know what conspired here.”

“All of it?” Preston teases, nipping at Danse’s jaw.

“As if I’d deny loving how you took me in a crumbling gas station.”

“Took you? Like a raider and a farm daughter?”

“If your stunning smile were the raider and my heart were the farm daughter, then yes.”

“Danse!” Preston flops onto his back, sending both his arms flying so one lands on the cold concrete and the other slaps against Danses’ sticky stomach. “I can’t believe you.”

He sighs, curling close to Preston. “I don’t suppose we could take the morning off for rest and recuperation? We are on leave.”

“You’re the commanding officer.”

“Then I _order_ you to get over here and let me hold you. Is that clear, soldier?”

Preston wriggles over, his back against Danse’s chest. The hair and sweat prickles his skin, but he likes it. With a contented breath, he shuts his eyes. Danse pulls him a little tighter, and slowly, they drift off into an easy sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

He can’t tell what time it is when they finally stir. Danse sits up, yawns, and stretches. Preston copies the motion, his back popping as he curves his spine back. “We need to haul a mattress here.”

“Affirmative.”

Preston stands and starts gathering his clothes, taking the water Danse hands him with a thankful nod. He chugs half before passing it back. They dress in silence, and when Preston opens the door to check outside, Danse slips their fingers together. He’s touched by the sentiment, but the ability to express it escape him. Instead, he squeezes.

It’s enough for now.

They walk outside. The afternoon sun is high in the sky, and the pile of scrap wood is exactly how they left it. Preston mentally lists all the work they have to do, brow furrowing. Danse grips his hand a little harder, nodding to the horizon. A single person approaches. The dog at her heels sniffs the air before bounding forward, the red handkerchief tied to its neck bouncing in the wind. He scrambles to a halt by their feet and barks.

“Hey, buddy.” Preston scratches behind Dogmeat’s ears. He whines in response. “Is that Nora over there?”

“I didn’t think she would be back this soon. Surprising. Glad she doesn’t have that Railroad spy with her.” Danse frowns at Preston’s scoff. “I may be a synth, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

“Even out of power armor, I think you could throw him pretty far.”

“Yes, perhaps into the nearest deathclaw nest.”

“Harsh, babe.” Preston waves at Nora, raising his voice to be heard from the distance. “General! It’s good to see you again!”

“Is that Preston Garvey and Danse? Well, I never.”

Preston goes to remove his hand from Danse’s, but Danse doesn’t budge. He glances at the taller man. “I would like to be as blunt as possible.”

“It wouldn’t be you if it wasn’t blunt.”

“Precisely.”

Nora walks up, tying her thick hair back with a string. Her gaze flashes from Danse to Preston to their hands, and she laughs. “Well, I _never_! You boys been having fun up here?”

“It was meant to be a surprise, but we decided to fix this as a new home for you, a secondary base for your work as the general of the Minute Men.” Preston shifts from one foot to the other. “There’s a lot of work to be done, but—”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Danse, give me the short and sweet version.”

“We drank a large amount of whiskey, confessed our mutual attraction, and had sex.”

“Danse!” Preston’s face grows hot.

“She is our commanding officer. You’re the one who made her general. I was just following orders. Like last night.” He winks.

Preston babbles incoherently while Nora laughs. She straightens up after a minute and plants her palms on her hips. “Well, good job. I suppose this is one settlement that doesn’t need my help, eh, Preston? I’m on my way to rest, are you going to join me?” They swap glances before Preston shakes his head no. “Alright. I’ll see you boys after the honeymoon. It better not get in the way of our business. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Preston blurts while the other two chuckle at his expense. Danse and Nora exchange a few goodbyes before Nora sets off again, Dogmeat padding after her with a wagging tail.

Danse turns to Preston, dragging him into a soft hug.

“You’re so cute.”

“What happened to decorum?”

“We have the general’s approval. There’s no decorum to prohibit this.” He kisses Preston. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Does it sound juvenile to tell you that I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you? Because I do. Spend my mornings training while you’re on guard duty, our evenings fixing up settlements. Build a house. Build a family.”

“A family?” Preston buries the side of his face into Danse’s shirt, still smelling of grease and sweat. He loves it.

“If you would want to.”

The future shines like a beacon in Preston’s mind. He swallows the lump in his throat and nods, holding back tears. Thoughts of it all ending vanish with the gentle rubbing of Danse’s hands along his back.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr.](definitelyflowers.tumblr.com)


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